Though the King was with us,
Not all the time know.
Few worship on the iconostasis.
And the Russian soul, exhausted in the dark, disappear.
Knowing the "feat" of October,
Many of February forget.
Only we know that it's all for nothing,
And we only cry about the new King.
About My Russia!
You forgot the King.
And inside you're rotting,
I forgot about this black day in the calendar.